


Teatime

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day that SHIELD fell, Peggy Carter was enjoying her afternoon tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teatime

Peggy sipped her tea.

It had been a quite lovely day.

Cloudy and overcast, it was true, but that only reminded her of her childhood home. Still, it was pleasant enough for a turn about in the garden. She had even managed to step out of her chair and sit down on the bench on the veranda.

She set down her cup carefully in the saucer. Everything was so much more of an effort these days: lifting a china cup, taking a few steps, even picking through her memories.

The memories were the thing that bothered her the most.

Her parents had never had such problems, and she had always wondered whether one too many fights had rattled her brain. It was frustrating that her mind, her greatest asset, would betray her first.

It was especially bothersome when she looked at the bouquet of flowers that had arrived while she was out. There was a code hidden in them, she knew that much. She had taught the select few about it, but now, the details of it were…

She closed her eyes and folded her hands together, trying to concentrate.

It was like trying to grasp at the wind.

She reached out and turned the vase slowly about to examine the arrangement. Even with her glasses on, all she could see was a mass of colourful flowers. She pressed the edges of her hands against the table until they ached, and tried, tried so very hard to find the memory.

There was a song, a song her mother had taught her. A song.

She hummed, hummed over and again, until she found the tune.

It was like a key in an aged-rusted lock: with the tune came the lyrics in fragments, with the fragments came the flowers, and with the flowers, one by one, came the meanings hidden in the blooms. 

At first, she thought she was mistaken, but she sang under her breath over and over, until she was sure. In the heart of the bouquet there was a single flower that had no meaning that she could recall. She reached in and drew it out, pushing the message aside, and all at once, she knew just who had sent the flowers. She had sent a bouquet of those flowers when a friend had fallen. 

If he was right, and she certainly doubted that he could be mistaken, then they were all in a great deal of trouble. 

“Oh,” she murmured.

In the hallways, she could hear the nurse moving about with the trolley.

That wasn’t quite right either.

Routine, she knew. They maintained her routine here. Tea at two o’clock, medicine one hour later, when her stomach was settled. The medicine trolley was not meant to be out and about yet.

Peggy leaned back against the pillows and drew her blanket up. This was a world that she could walk through, backwards and in heels. She turned her cheek against the pillow, facing the mirror that faced the door. She had no choice but to keep her glasses on, unfortunately, but needs must.

The trolley was squeaking closer. 

She watched through half-closed eyes as the door opened. The visitor was dressed like any other member of staff. She was even carrying the tray of medicine, just like the usual nurses did. 

Peggy bit the inside of her lower lip. 

It was possible too many years of suspicion meant she was seeing shadows where there were none. Or that her mind was playing tricks and her routine was not as set as she thought it was.

“Miss Carter,” the nurse whispered. “Are you awake?”

Peggy didn’t move. Wrong. That was wrong. All of the staff knew to call her Peggy. She’d rapped enough knuckles to make sure of it, and they only ever used her married name if anything.

The tray of pills was set down on the table propped over her legs. She saw the nurse pull on a pair of gloves, then reach under her tunic to withdraw a handgun. The flowers, Peggy thought grimly, were correct.

She shifted, making appropriate sleepy sounds, and saw her would-be assassin freeze.

A mistake for any assassin, hesitating too long.

Beneath the blanket, and beneath her left arm, she braced her right hand on her left side. The weight of the small snub-nosed revolver against her fingers was familiar. A final mission, defending herself against HYDRA once more.

“Who sent you?” she said quietly. 

The assassin looked startled. Too late, she started to raise the gun.

Too late by far, as Peggy fired her own small pistol.

It was an embarrassing shot, not the neat one she had hoped for. Too many years without a practise, and aiming using a mirror, she supposed. Still, as the assassin dropped the gun, clutching at the her throat, blood gouting between her fingers, it was a job sufficiently well-done. 

Peggy turned onto her back, peering down over the edge of the bed. The woman was gurgling on the floor. Alarms were shrilling. There was going to be a terrible fuss in no time at all.

Peggy set her little gun back down, and picked up her cup of tea.

It was going to be an awfully exciting afternoon.


End file.
